How to Save a Life
by Ally147
Summary: Hermione never believed in Divination. Until now, that is. H/Hr, Hogwarts-era AU, EWE. Written for the 2014 HP Creatures Fest on LJ.
1. Chapter 1

Hi, everyone! This is the piece I wrote for the HP Halloween Creatures Fest, where my creature prompt was Triclops. In comparison to what some other people wrote, mine is quite tame! Before we go on, I'd like to point out that this story does contain a Harry/Hermione pairing. If you don't like them together, back away now.

Rated purely for language, themes, and scenes of a slightly more suggestive nature in the second part, but no actual smut.

Thank you to kanames_harisen for beta-ing for me once again :)

**DISCLAIMER**:This piece of fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made, no copyright or trademark infringement, or offense is intended. All characters depicted in sexual situations are above the age of consent.

* * *

><p>Hermione was quite certain that she had seen enough of Harry Potter's melancholy to last her a lifetime.<p>

In between his dealings with – and defeat of – Voldemort in the years previous when war was on their doorstep, his girl troubles with both Ginny and Cho, his uncertainty about himself and his abilities (which had only become worse as their N.E.W.T.s loomed) and the general moodiness that seemed to come standard with every teenage boy, it seemed all she ever saw from Harry were crossed arms and a perpetually sullen, brooding demeanour.

It was in the wake of his recent, and rather messy, break-up with Ginny and his subsequent fall-out with Ron (who seemed to be doing his very best to avoid her too, oddly enough) that she swore his gloomy disposition had reached new and ever more depressing heights and, patient though she was when it came to her closest friend, Hermione wasn't sure she could take much more.

She had all but dragged him from the Gryffindor tower to take a walk around the Black Lake, which would clear her study-addled brain as well as benefit him. She couldn't take another day of watching him stare blankly into the embers of the previous nights' dying fire. It was a beautiful, warm, cloudless spring day out, and Hermione would be damned if she was going to let Harry spend yet another day sitting in the common room on one of the old-faded couches with the drapes drawn closed just so he could pout some more.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" she asked, when nearly twenty minutes had passed in silence. They had ventured far in that short time, right on over to the other side of the lake where students hardly ever attempted to reach – closer to the edge of the Forbidden Forest than anything else. Students that roamed the bank on the other side were tiny and insignificant, and there was nothing to hear but the sound of the leaves rustling on the gentle breeze.

Her question earned a non-committal grunt and an uncaring shrug in response.

She huffed, throwing her fluffy ponytail over her other shoulder. "Harry?" she questioned, louder that time.

"I'm fine!" he exclaimed, jumping as though hearing her for the first time.

"Fine, Harry?" she repeated, disbelieving. "You don't have to be fine, you know."

He crossed his arms over his chest, and his shoulders slumped. "Well, I'm not upset, if that's what you mean."

"Really?"

Harry gave an enthusiastic nod, sending his glasses down to the very tip of his nose. "Not even a little." He paused and pushed his glasses back up. "Well, that's a lie; maybe the tiniest bit, but that's because Ginny's a good friend and I hate that I hurt her, not because I'm pining for her or anything like that."

"Have you spoken to her at all since?" she questioned, kicking at a stone along their path and sending it skidding away.

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at his feet. "No. I don't plan to, either. Distance is best here, so don't go pushing it."

"Why not?"

"Because it's for the best! I wasn't happy, and she…"

"And she?" Hermione prompted when he trailed off.

He sighed. "She knew I wasn't happy."

"Harry." Hermione slowed to a pause and looked up at him, her brow furrowed to the point that there was a deep wrinkle between them. "What exactly happened between you and Ginny?"

Harry stopped, tensing beside her and giving her a nearly terrified, side-long glance. "Ginny didn't tell you what happened?"

She shook her head. "I tried to ask her, but she burst into tears and ran away. She's an absolute wreck, Harry. I haven't seen her since. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was avoiding me, too."

He let out a long breath and his tensed shoulders relaxed. "Gin's a strong girl, Hermione. She'll bounce back, I'm certain of it. And what do you mean, she's ignoring you, _too_? Who else is ignoring you?"

"Ron won't talk to me either. The last time I saw him, he took off immediately in the other direction as though I might be carrying something highly contagious. Which begs the question once more, Harry: what happened with you and Ginny?"

Harry sighed again – a heavy, long suffering sigh – and raked a hand through his hair, making the strands stand on end. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but it's not something that… happened. It was always there. I just hadn't noticed it, but once I did, I couldn't ignore it. It wouldn't have been fair to either of us if I had just ignored it."

"And Ginny was okay with that?" she asked uncertainly.

He snorted. "She most certainly was not okay with that."

"But surely Ron understands, doesn't he? Why would he be angry at you, too?"

Harry shot her a wry smile. "It was always you who said he had the emotional range of a teaspoon." He shuffled uncomfortably in place and let out yet another sigh when she arched a brow at him. "I broke his little sister's heart, Hermione, and he knows exactly why I did it and he certainly doesn't appreciate it. I don't blame him for being angry, really."

"But you won't tell me?" Hermione huffed. "Honestly, Harry, it's not as though I'm going to judge you."

"It's not something I'm ready to share with you, Hermione. Ron had to coerce it out of me under threat – and exertion! – of violence! Suffice it to say, Ginny didn't turn out to be what I wanted... or what I needed."

"What you… needed?" Hermione repeated, confused. "Harry, was there someone else?"

Harry's eyes flashed with anger. "I didn't cheat on her, Hermione. You know I wouldn't do that."

"I know you wouldn't, and that isn't even what I asked." She grabbed him by the shoulder to keep him from stalking off. "Harry. Are you in love with someone else?"

"Yes, I think so."

"You think so? That isn't an answer, Harry."

Harry took a deep breath and turned to face her properly, setting his hands on her shoulders. Physical contact from Harry certainly wasn't abnormal, but his touches had always been fleeting, a pat here or a squeeze there, sometimes even the occasional hug, but in the past week Harry had become quite confident, almost blasé in his touches. Now, it wasn't uncommon for him to take her hand, to stroke her hair, even to tickle her sides when she least expected it. It often left her feeling warm, and there was the strangest sort of awareness between them now, too. She was certain he must have noticed it, as it surely couldn't just be her feeling it. While it wasn't at all unwelcome – it actually made her feel quite tingly and lovely, possibly even more than that if she allowed herself to dwell on it for too long – it was certainly taking some getting used to.

His eyes glinted bright with something fierce, and his lips were set determinedly, as though he was steeling himself to say something important. "Ginny wasn't right for me, Hermione. I think you know she wasn't."

The odd determination in his eyes caught her off guard, and she faltered just slightly before whispering, "I never said that."

Harry sighed, sounding almost disappointed, and dropped his hands from her shoulders to hang limply at his sides. "I know you didn't. You wouldn't."

"I wasn't sure, though," she admitted quietly, finally divulging to him a thought that had nagged at her ever since Ginny had first kissed him. "About Ginny, I mean. Something about the two of you didn't seem quite… _right_. But I never thought it was my place to say anything. You both seemed happy. Weren't you?"

Harry let out a frustrated breath. "At the beginning, maybe. Gin certainly was. But later, I just… drifted, and I… I didn't love her, and I thought I was doing the right thing by leaving her, but because I'm too much of a bloody coward I still don't get to have what I really want and –" Harry stopped abruptly, and his gaze drifted to the ground. His expression darkened then softened again, and shoved his hands in his pockets before stalking away. "You know what? Don't worry about it."

"Harry!" Hermione called after him. "Harry, please stop."

"_Granger! Look out!_"

A pair of unfamiliar arms wrapped around her mid-section, winding her as she was brought crashing to the ground. She looked up just in time to see a hole crumble open in the ground in front of her. Her eyes widened; just one more step and she would have stumbled in and likely fallen to her death.

Nott groaned, and his grip around her middle loosened. She crept closer to the edge of the hole and looked down. She gasped; the bottom of it, even in bright daylight, wasn't visible at all.

"Hermione!"

Harry seized her around her waist and tugged her away from the hole to a small clearing near the forest's opening. Once he deemed her safe, he hauled her back up to an upright position and pulled her into a tight hug.

"Oh, God, 'Mione," Harry breathed into her hair, falling habitually into the shortened name he usually only used when it was late at night, when full names and properly structured sentences were something of a chore. "'Mione, you… God, you almost…"

"It's alright, Harry," she reassured softly, her voice shaking. "I'm fine. See?"

His hands ran down her arms, around her waist and up her back, verifying for himself that she was still intact. He cupped her cheeks and pressed a litany of kisses to her forehead. "Jesus, Hermione," he whispered against her skin. "I didn't even do anything."

"Don't blame yourself," she spoke quietly. She could feel her heart pounding wildly in her chest, and she wondered if Harry could hear it, too. "There wasn't anything you could have done."

"Nott did," Harry retorted, jerking his head to where Theodore Nott was lying on the grass maybe ten metres away, his hands clutched to his forehead, still rather close to the gaping hole. "How the bloody hell did he know?"

"I don't know, but is he hurt?" Hermione questioned as she extricated herself from Harry's hold and ventured towards where Nott was lying. As she drew closer, Harry following closely behind, she heard him laughing.

"Nott?" Hermione questioned cautiously. "Um, Theo? Are you alright?"

"Alright? Granger, I am more than alright! I am fucking fantastic!" He let out another peal of wild laughter and rubbed at his forehead again. "It's really gone," he whispered to himself.

"What's gone?" Harry asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Did you lose something?"

"You bet your arse I lost something, Potter! Something I never, ever want to find again." He scrambled to his feet and dusted the dirt from his shirt and pants. "Never mind me, though. Are you alright, Granger?"

"I'm fine, thanks to you. You saved my life."

"It was nothing," Nott replied, shrugging his narrow shoulders and shooting her a loaded look. "You would have done the same for me."

Hermione nodded profusely. "Of course, but surely there is something I can do for you? To thank you properly?"

Nott shook his head. "You will know in time just how much helping you has helped me already, Granger. You don't owe me a thing." He looked down at the hole and let out a loud whistle. "I'll let Hagrid know his death trap needs to be refilled." He gave her shoulder a squeeze and turned to leave. "I wish you luck, Hermione, and be careful."

"Hagrid's death trap?" Hermione repeated, puzzled, once Theo had rounded the gentle curve of the lake and was well out of earshot.

"He was probably trying to catch something from in there," Harry guessed, jerking his head towards the forest entrance. "Students hardly ever come up here; he probably didn't think it would be dangerous. Wonder if it was something for a pet or something that was causing problems?"

Hermione shook her head. "Someone needs to have a good, long talk with that man."

Harry crossed his arms over his chest, his brow deeply furrowed. "Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"What do you suppose Nott meant when he wished you luck?"

"Luck in staying alive for the remainder of our walk?" Hermione teased weakly.

Harry glared at her. "Don't talk like that."

She let out a loud huff. "Then I don't know, Harry! He was probably just being polite. Perhaps he meant good luck in class, or good luck in our N.E.W.T.s. How am I supposed to understand and interpret the cryptic well-wishes of a boy I hardly know?"

"I don't know," he grumbled. "Just seems a weird thing to say."

"It's fine, Harry. I'm fine."

Harry sighed and took her hand in his. "I know."

"Come on," she said, tugging him back the other way. "Let's head back."

Harry quirked an eyebrow at her. "I thought you wanted to distract me?"

She smiled wryly. "I think we've both had more than enough distraction for one day."

**XXX**

The following morning was one like any other, but came after a sleep that had been fretful, and fraught with thoughts and questions from her brush with death. At exactly half-past six, Hermione awoke to the sound of birdsong and a gentle breeze from the open window, and the sound of footfalls in the halls beyond her shared dorm. With a sigh, she pushed back the blankets and set her socked feet on the cold, stone floor.

"Morning, 'Mione," Lavender chirped from her bed across the room.

"You're up early this morning," Hermione muttered in response. She looked up and quirked a brow. "And fully dressed."

"Ron has early Quidditch practice," she gushed, her cheeks tinged pink. "There's a place in the final match on the line in a few weeks, you know, so they'll be training extra hard from now 'til then. I want to watch. You know, Hermione," Lavender stretched flat across her bed, resting her head on her crossed arms, "Harry will be down there, too."

"Probably," Hermione said through a yawn. "Him being the Quidditch Captain and all."

"So… do you want to come with me to watch?"

Hermione shot her a confused look. "Why would I?"

Lavender looked bewildered. "I just thought that, since he and Ginny broke up, that you and he might –"

Hermione nearly burst out laughing. "Harry and I aren't – we're not –"

She looked confused. "You're not?"

Hermione shook her head dizzyingly fast. "Of course not! Harry and I are friends. Best friends."

Lavender shot her a secretive little smile. "For such a smart girl, Hermione, you can be so blind at times."

"Blind?"

Lavender giggled to herself before she stood and walked over to pat her patronisingly on her head. "One day, Hermione. And soon too, if how that silly boy is acting is any indication." She smiled and picked up her wand from her side table, then stowed it in a pocket on her skirt and skipped from the dorm without another word.

Hermione waited until she could no longer hear Lavender's footsteps to fall back to her bed, a disbelieving little laugh falling from her lips. Harry and her. Her and Harry. It was ludicrous to even think about! Lavender must have paid too much mind to idle gossip again, as she was so prone to do.

Still laughing to herself, Hermione lifted herself from her bed again and busied herself in the set of drawers beside her, lifting out her toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, her hairbrush and a little hand towel.

The bathroom was mercifully empty when Hermione stepped through the doors, and silent if only for the dripping tap on the far right of the bench that had stubbornly refused to work in all the time Hermione had been at Hogwarts. With a sigh, she came to a pause in front of a basin and set down her toothbrush. She ducked her head and turned the tap, cupping her hands under the running faucet to splash her face with the icy cold water.

But something didn't feel right. Something felt quite wrong.

Stiffly, Hermione turned the tap off and picked up her towel from where she had draped it over the sink and lightly blotted her dripping face dry. Dropping the towel back to the basin, Hermione opened her eyes and caught sight of her reflection in the mirror.

She screamed.

There was a perfectly formed, closed eye, right in the centre of her forehead.

Trembling hands reached up to push her fringe away, revealing the eye properly. She traced the edge of it, afraid to touch it directly. It even had eyelashes; small, golden blonde ones that were really only visible if she stood under the light. There were even tiny wrinkles at the corners, as though it was marred by little laughter lines. That made Hermione feel almost indignant, like the whole situation was some sort of a joke.

She had been staring at it for nearly ten minutes, her eyes wide and her mouth agape, before she caught herself. She swallowed the lump in her throat and fought against the stinging at the back of her eyes and the deep pit growing at the bottom of her stomach. She needed to be rational, to retain the calm sensibility she was known for – she needed her books.

She dashed from the bathroom and down the stairs to the common room, finding it completely empty except for Harry, in his full Quidditch kit, sitting cross-legged on one of the plush armchairs by the window with a piece of parchment on his lap as he waited for his teammates.

"Harry!" she breathed. She dismounted the remaining stairs two at a time and dashed across the room to come to a halt in front of him.

"Good morning, Hermione." Harry looked up and greeted her with a warm smile. "Did you sleep well?"

"Do you see it?" Hermione whispered, exhausted already despite the early hour. She pushed her knotted mane away, holding it back with one closed fist while the other hand made manic strokes over her forehead. She leaned in close and hissed, "Tell me, Harry! Do you see it?"

"See what?" He shot up from his seat, taking her wrists in his hands to guide her flailing arms down to her side, but he didn't let go. He studied her face closely. "Hermione, you're not making sense; what am I supposed to see?"

"The eye!" she wailed. "The sodding great eye in the middle of my forehead!"

"Hermione," Harry said softly. He slid his hands from her wrists to take hers, squeezing with a gentle, reassuring pressure that absolutely infuriated her. "There is no eye on your forehead." He moved a hand to brush away her fringe, his fingers lightly dancing over her skin. "I certainly don't see one. Are you sure it wasn't just a nightmare?"

"Positive, Harry!" Hermione bit back shrilly, her tone bordering on hysteric. "There is an eye on my head! An extra eye! Why would I lie about something like that? Why can't you see it?"

"I don't know!" Harry exclaimed, immediately letting go of her hands. "Why would there be an eye on your head?"

"I don't know!"

"Well… what does it do?"

"How the frig should I know?" Hermione snapped, slapping at his chest. "I only found it five minutes ago!"

"Ow, Hermione! Calm down!"

"I think I'm entitled to be a little terrified right now, Harry! There's an eye on my forehead! _I'm a bloody Triclops_!"

"You aren't a Triclops, Hermione," Harry placated, taking her hand again.

"A Triclops, by definition, _is a creature with three eyes!"_

"Three eyes that are usually visible," he responded calmly. "So people can properly verify their… tricloptic nature." He cleared his throat and coughed when she arched a brow at him. "So, has anything happened with it? Can you see out of it?"

"There hasn't been enough time for anything to happen!" Hermione cried. "It wasn't there when I went to sleep! But…" She trailed off, thoughtful. "Lavender never said anything about it when I woke up earlier. She mustn't have been able to see it either. She definitely would have said something otherwise, the vapid, gossiping cow."

"No need to insult Lavender, Hermione, just because you're having a bad morning," Harry lightly teased her.

She fixed him with a dark glare. "I am having a little more than a bad morning, Harry, thank you."

"Sorry," he said, sounding properly chastised. "But, Hermione." Harry gently squeezed her hand. "Are you absolutely certain you didn't have a nightmare?"

"Harry, when have you ever known me to be anything less than reasonable and level-headed? If I'd had a nightmare, I certainly wouldn't be kicking up such a fuss."

"Okay, then." Harry nodded, as though that was that. "I believe you."

"You… you believe me?"

He quirked a brow. "You don't want me to believe you?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, of course I do! Of course I want you to believe me. But, why?"

Harry shrugged and shot her a cheeky grin. "You're Hermione Granger; of course I believe you."

**XXX**

Hermione had been in Potions the first time the eye opened.

It had been only four days since the eye had first appeared on her forehead. She'd had a knife poised over her chamomile root, ready to dice it into cubes and crush it to release the juices as the instructions called for. Her vision became a wide expanse of black, and she tensed painfully, her limbs jarring and locking tightly. She was only faintly aware of her body hitting the stone floor before the black she was staring at became a blinding flash of white that slowly gave way to shape, colour and sound.

_She was in the Great Hall at breakfast time. Nothing was odd about the scene. It seemed to be a weekend, as the crowd was sparse and no one was wearing a uniform. She was seated, as she usually was these days, next to Harry, with her customary two slices of toast with blueberry jam and glass of pumpkin juice in front of her, when the morning flock of postal owls descended._

"_Not again!" Ron moaned loudly from his spot a little further up the table, his head falling to his crossed arms as Pigwidgeon dropped the menacing red envelope of a Howler onto his breakfast plate._

"_What did you do?" Seamus asked, amused._

"_Nothing!" Ron retorted, defensive, as he prodded the envelope with a butter knife. "At least, I don't think I've done anything."_

"_What about at home?" Ginny questioned, her eyebrow raised dubiously over puffy, reddened eyes as she stirred morosely at her cereal._

_Ron looked up and fixed her with a glare. "I haven't exactly been home to do anything, have I? Unless Mum found…" He trailed off, his face blanching to a near Malfoy level of pale. "Oh, no."_

"_You'd better open it," Seamus commented with a grin. "The ends are starting to smoke."_

"Hermione!"

Her eyes snapped open and immediately closed again under the harsh sunlight from the window behind her. She was aware too of something damp and cool on her forehead, and a slow trickle of a drop – of sweat or water she wasn't sure – down her neck. The light disappeared, and Hermione opened her eyes again, this time meeting the gentle, concerned gaze of Harry.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice strangely dry.

"You passed out," Harry whispered. "Or, at least I think you did; you jerked around quite a bit and mumbled, and your eyes were wide open, but white – no iris or pupil or anything. Pomfrey had no idea what was happening. I think she said she was going to find Dumbledore."

Hermione tried to pull herself up, finding the ground beneath her to be oddly soft. "I'm not in the Potions room anymore," she stated.

Harry shook his head. "No. I brought you to the Hospital Wing. You got a nasty bump on your head when you fell, and you dropped your knife and cut your hand. Pomfrey fixed you up, though." He shifted so he was sitting next to her on the bed and took her hand in his. "What happened, Hermione?"

"I… I'm not sure," Hermione rasped out. Harry quickly poured a cup of water from the jug beside her bed and held it to her lips. She took three large gulps and sighed. "I don't know what happened, but I think I was dreaming."

"Dreaming?" Harry prompted.

"I think so, only it wasn't like a dream. It was so… normal, not at all like my regular dreams, and it felt so real, like I was watching it as it happened."

"What do you normally dream about?" Harry asked, curious.

"My dreams are usually quite strange," she told him with a wry smile. "Robbing a Muggle bank with a pink and green striped lemur in tow, performing onstage in a string quartet to a pod of dolphins, that sort of thing."

Harry chuckled. "Well, what was this dream?"

Hermione leaned back against her pillow. "We were all at breakfast, and Ron got a Howler. I don't know what it was for, you woke me before it opened, but Ron seemed to think his mum had found something of his."

Harry looked contemplative. "Strange thing to dream about." He paused and his eyes widened behind his glasses. "You don't suppose it had anything to do with…" He gestured vaguely to her forehead.

"The eye?" Hermione brought her fingers up to it. It was closed, as usual, and perfectly still – the eye within it didn't move at all.

"It's the only thing that's different, isn't it?" Harry pressed on excitedly. "What else could be doing it?"

"Miss Granger?" Dumbledore peered through the sheer white curtain surrounding her bed. Harry shot up from where he had been sitting next to her and flushed a deep red. Dumbledore gave a small, amused smile. "And Mister Potter, of course."

"Professor," Hermione greeted quietly, wringing her hands beneath the covers.

"I understand you collapsed in Potions?" Dumbledore prompted, moving to stand beside her bed, his hands clasped in front of him.

"I did, sir."

"You gave Madam Pomfrey quite a fright. She tells me your eyes were white."

Hermione shook her head. "I'm afraid I have no explanation for that, Professor."

"I didn't expect you would, Miss Granger. Perhaps you and Mister Potter could tell me what happened in the moments leading up to your fall?"

Hermione slumped further into her pillows, listening dimly as Harry detailed everything, from the potion they were making and the fumes that might have been present to the moment she had woken up.

"There is one other thing, too, Professor," Harry went on, shooting her an apologetic look. "Hermione says there is a third eye on her forehead, one that only appeared a few days ago. She can see it, but I can't, and neither can anyone else. Would that have something to do with her collapse?"

Dumbledore fixed her with a searching gaze. "Does anyone else know of this?"

She shook her head. "No, sir. Only you and Harry."

"I would recommend that you keep it that way, Miss Granger, for the time being."

"Is it something bad, sir?" Harry interjected. "Is Hermione going to get hurt?"

"Nothing so bad, Harry. There are few instances of individuals waking to find new features upon their faces; new eyes, ears, sometimes even mouths, but it could be any number of things. These instances, however few, all share a commonality. Miss Granger, while you were incapacitated, did you see anything?"

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it again. She cast a quick glance to her side to Harry, who nodded reassuringly. "I think I was dreaming, Professor."

"Do you recall what you were dreaming of?" Dumbledore pressed, sounding nearly urgent.

"Nothing terribly interesting. We were all at breakfast, and Ron got a Howler."

"Were you yourself? Or an outside observer?"

"It was like I was watching from the outside, sir. I saw myself, but I wasn't myself. Rather like using a pensieve."

"Hmm." Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "I will do some reading on your behalf, but I recommend that you pay attention to these visions, Miss Granger, if you have any more. They may be more significant than we realise. For now, however, I wish you a speedy recovery."

"Significant how?" Hermione questioned cautiously as the headmaster moved to leave.

Dumbledore paused at the doorway, turning his body only slightly to survey her with a sombre, nearly regretful smile. "I believe they may be glimpses into the future."

**XXX**

The second time the eye opened it had been early one Saturday morning and only a week later. She had been sitting in one of the top tiers of the Quidditch stands with an open book on her lap. Harry was on his broom, a mere speck on the horizon as he chased the practice Snitch she had given him the previous Christmas through the cloudless sky.

Much the same as last time, Hermione felt her body seize tight, her joints lock, and her vision become a blank expanse of nothing.

"_And Hufflepuff has beaten Gryffindor for the Quidditch Cup!" the excited voice of Lee Jordan bellowed through the magically amplified microphone over the din of the cheering crowd. "In a stunning upset, and for the first time in nearly two hundred years, Hufflepuff has won, 380-160!"_

"Hermione? Oh, God, not again."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut tight against the sunlight and let out a groan. She felt a warm body behind her and arms around her waist. Slowly, she opened her eyes and met the concerned, upside-down gaze of Harry above her.

"Same again?" he asked, brushing her fringe from her eyes.

"Same again," she confirmed, wincing as she sat up. "Well, not quite the same again. Different dream."

"What was it this time?" Harry asked as he settled her back in her seat. He picked up her book and set it back down on her lap before kneeling in front of her.

Hermione smiled ruefully. "If these visions truly are glimpses of the future, then I don't think you want to know."

"Why not?"

"It'll break your heart, Harry. Truly."

"That bad, huh?"

Hermione chuckled. "Depending on your point of view."

Harry smiled and stood, extending his hand. "Come on, it's time for breakfast. You're still pale; some food would do you good."

Her stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly. Hermione blushed, and Harry laughed. She took his offered hand and allowed him to pull her up.

"Want to fly down?" Harry asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Only if you don't mind going for the rest of the week without those eyebrows of yours."

"It's alright, Hermione. I promise, I won't let you fall."

Apprehensively, Hermione leaned over the side of the tower. It was one of the shorter ones, only about fifty metres in the air as opposed to the others that stood at seventy-five and one hundred metres tall, but looking down still made her feel queasy.

"We don't have to if you don't want to," Harry assured her when she had spent nearly three minutes staring over the edge. "I just wasn't sure you'd want to walk the whole way back down, since you're still shaking."

Hermione looked down to her quivering hands, then surveyed the stairs that led back down, which all of a sudden looked entirely too rickety. "You won't let me fall?" she asked carefully, eyeing the broom over his shoulder which barely looked enough to support him, let alone the two of them.

He shook his head. "Never, Hermione." He held out the broom and it hovered in mid-air. "You sit up front, and I'll go behind you. That way I can hold you and guide the broom at the same time."

Tentatively, Hermione lifted a leg over the broom, clutching the handle tightly in white-knuckled fists. She gasped when she felt Harry slide on behind her, hot and firm against her back. His arms came around under hers, one wrapping around her waist, the other taking the handle just below her hands. His breath was warm on her neck when he whispered, "Hold on tight."

"Don't you dare let go," Hermione warned him, squeezing her eyes shut."

She felt his cheek twitch against her, and she guessed he was smiling. "Never, Hermione," he said again, in a way that made her think he meant far more than simply holding her on a broom. His arm tightened around her, as though to demonstrate. "I'll go slowly, okay?"

She nodded, her heart pounding with such force that she was certain Harry was able to feel it from behind her. He kicked off from the wooden platform, and she gripped the handle even tighter at the sensation of wind in her hair and the feel of nothingness under her feet.

"You can open your eyes now, Hermione."

"How do you know they're closed?"

"Because I know _you_, Hermione. Now, open up."

Hermione slowly opened one eye and let out a sigh; they were hovering a mere foot above the ground.

"See?" Harry grinned at her as he set her down properly. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"I vastly prefer having my feet on the ground." Hermione dismounted the broom and patted a hand over her braided hair and groaned. "My hair must look a sight."

"It looks fine. Lovely, even, though I think I prefer it out," Harry remarked, tugging fondly on a stray curl before tucking it behind her ear. She watched on curiously as the tips of his ears turned a bright red when he pulled his hand away and coughed before looking down at the watch on his wrist. "Come on, they should be serving by now."

He set his broom over his shoulder and stuffed his practice Snitch in his jeans pocket, and led her on a slow, unhurried march back towards the doors of the Great Hall.

"How is everything going with Ginny and Ron?" Hermione asked him.

His sour expression was answer enough.

She huffed with exasperation. "Really, Harry?"

"I tried talking to Ginny two days ago," he replied defensively. "She didn't want to hear it. She called me all sorts of names and sent a Bat-Bogey Hex at me that McGonagall had to reverse."

"Goodness gracious!" Hermione exclaimed, shocked. "Two days ago? Why didn't you tell me?"

Harry shrugged, the tips of his ears turning red again. "I didn't think it was all that important, to be honest."

"Well, was she given a detention?"

Harry shook his head and pushed the tall doors open. "I asked McGonagall not to. If hexing me makes Ginny feel better, then she can do it all she wants."

"You can't keep blaming yourself, Harry," Hermione told him with a sigh. "I understand you feel bad for hurting her but if you didn't love Ginny, then you did the right thing. Neither she nor you deserve to be in a relationship with someone you don't love."

"Tell them that," Harry muttered, his tone lowering as more people appeared. "Talking to Ron, you'd think I left Ginny at the altar."

"I'm sure it's not quite so dramatic, Harry," Hermione said dryly as they entered the Great Hall and approached the Gryffindor table. "Ron will come around soon, I'm sure of it. Ginny, too."

His answering smile was tight and strained, as though he didn't quite believe her, but he took his seat on the bench and patted the space beside him for her to sit down. His gaze fell to a little further down the table, where Ron and Ginny looked to be deep in conversation with Seamus Finnegan. "I hope you're right."

"Of course I am," she answered confidently, sliding in next to him. She set about gathering her breakfast – two slices of toast with blueberry jam and a glass of pumpkin juice – while Harry busied himself with a bowl of porridge with honey. He picked up a discarded copy of _The Daily Prophet_ and began to peruse it distractedly when a small flock of owls came in through the large, open window.

"Not again!" a familiar voice moaned from further down the table. Hermione tensed, and her eyes widened as she took in the scene: Harry beside her, two slices of toast with blueberry jam and a glass of pumpkin juice, owls flying overhead, and the ominous red envelope of a Howler on Ron's plate a little further down. Without even thinking, she reached a hand under the table and took Harry's, squeezing tight.

"Hermione?" Harry whispered. "What's wrong?"

"Shush," Hermione hissed. "Just… one moment, alright?"

She closed her eyes and listened carefully, whispering along as she remembered the words from her first vision. She didn't even need to look up to know exactly what was happening.

"What did you do?" came Seamus' voice.

"Nothing! At least, I don't think I've done anything."

"What about at home?" asked Ginny.

A few moments of silence, and then, "Oh, no."

"You'd better open it. The ends are smokin'."

The Howler began to scream, something about the impropriety of hiding naughty magazines under one's mattress (_"Did you honestly believe I wouldn't find them, Ronald Weasley? I'm the only one who makes your bed!"_), but Hermione could barely hear it, not over the insistent pounding of her heart. Instead, she looked down at her plate and focused on her breathing as her skin grew cold and clammy and her hands began to shake.

"Hermione?" Harry ventured softly. "Are you alright?"

She didn't reply. Instead, she seized Harry by the arm and forcibly dragged him away from his food and from the hall, out the majestic front doors to the courtyard. She made a beeline for one of the stone benches that lined the area and sat down, holding her head in her hands.

A warm body settled next to her and gently took hold of her hands.

"What happened in there, Hermione?" Harry asked softly.

"That was the dream, Harry," she whispered. "The one I saw when I collapsed in Potions."

Harry paused, his grip on her hands tightening for a brief moment. "What?"

"After I collapsed that day in Potions, remember I told you I dreamed of Ron getting a Howler?"

His eyes widened. "And that – in there – that was it?"

Hermione sighed and gazed at the ground. "That was it."

"So, Dumbledore was right," Harry stated, sounding almost shaky. "You're seeing the future."

"Everything was exactly the same," Hermione breathed. "Everything! Same conversation, same breakfast, even the same owls flying overhead." She wrenched herself from his grip and tugged at her hair. "I don't know what to do."

"What _can_ you do, Hermione?" Harry asked her, his tone sharp.

"I… I don't know."

"There's nothing you can do, Hermione. Not until we know what we're dealing with."

"There's nothing in the books, Harry!" she exclaimed. "And Dumbledore didn't know anything – nothing he was willing to share, anyway. There are vague references to eyes appearing on foreheads, but nothing about why or how. I'm lost, Harry, and I don't know what to do."

Her voice cracked on her last word and, catching her completely unaware, she began to cry. Her breath hitched on loud sobs that she quickly muffled with her hand before Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her to his side.

"We'll work it out, Hermione," Harry whispered against her temple before pressing a kiss there. "I promise."

Hermione sniffled. "We?"

"Of course!" Harry declared, sounding nearly affronted. "You've been there for me since the very beginning, Hermione. I want to help you now."

She reached a hand down to twine their fingers together. "Thank you, Harry."

There was a stretch of comfortable silence, and then, "So… whatever it was you saw before – that you won't tell me about? That was…?"

Hermione let out a weak chuckle. "Likely the future, too."

"And you still won't share?"

"I'm not sure I should, Harry. Now that we know what this is, perhaps it would be best if I kept the visions to myself. Suffice to say, it's not life-changing or dire. Or, at least, it isn't to me."

"But you told me about Ron and the Howler," Harry pleaded.

"That was when I didn't know what was happening," Hermione retorted in her most prim and proper voice. "Now that I have a better understanding of what's happening, I don't think it is appropriate to share. Besides, Professor Dumbledore said not to."

"Fine," Harry said, defeated, though she could feel his smile. "Do you want to go back inside now? You never ate your food."

The both perfectly and horrendously timed rumble of her stomach, far louder and more aggressive than earlier, answered the question for him.

"What?" she muttered as Harry laughed and tugged her to her feet after him. "I never ate, remember?"

"Luckily, Hermione," he began with a wink, "I know exactly how to rectify that."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>Part two will be up in a few days. In the meantime, leave a review :)


	2. Chapter 2

I wanted to get the posting of this over with, so here's the second (and, for the moment, final!) part now.

When you get to it, _Postea Visus_ is simply Latin for 'future sight'.

* * *

><p>The next time the eye opened, she had mercifully been standing in front of a mirror in the bathroom, confirming her suspicions. There had been a split moment before she had collapsed to the cold, stone floor where she had seen the eye on her forehead open to reveal a bright blue iris.<p>

But this time, she fretted to herself as she felt her joints lock, she was alone. Every other vision she'd had, Harry had been close by, ready to wake her. Without intervention, she had no idea how long this vision might be.

_She was curled up on a deep, red sofa in front of a roaring fire. There was a worn copy of _David Copperfield _sitting open at the middle on her lap, but she wasn't paying any attention to it. Instead, she was listening with a smile to the soft male whispers that were drifting down from a room further up the hall._

"_Time to sleep, little Lily flower," the voice was saying. There was a warm chuckle, and then, "Such a pretty little thing you are. Beautiful, just like your mum."_

_A blush rose on her cheeks as she listened to the voice sing a soothing Muggle lullaby, one that she recognised as being one that her own mother had sung to her as a child. _

_The song suddenly stopped just before the halfway point, and Hermione guessed that their baby girl had finally fallen asleep. A door closed, and footsteps became progressively louder as they neared the end of the hall and appeared in the doorway._

"_Is she asleep?" Hermione asked as she set down her book._

"_Out like a light," Harry said proudly as he threw himself onto the sofa beside her._

"_Just like her father," she teased as Harry slid an arm around her waist and tugged her close._

"_Not my fault her mother keeps such ridiculous hours," Harry retorted. "Who would have thought you would prefer reading books til two in the morning to snuggling in bed with your sexy husband?"_

"_I don't prefer it," she denied, giggling when Harry began tickling her side. "I just lose track of time… sometimes."_

"_All the time," he corrected, smirking. "It's a good thing I know exactly how to distract you."_

_Shooting him a challenging grin, Hermione picked up her book again, opened it at the middle and began to read. "Prove it, Potter."_

_He was still for several long moments, and Hermione wondered if he was going to try anything at all. Just when she had given up hope and settled back into her book, idle fingers began to dance up and down her thigh._

_She bit her lip behind her book, refusing to give him the benefit of seeing her reaction to his touch, but he knew her too well. His hands abandoned her leg, coming up to tear the book away from her hands and toss it to the floor._

"_Harry!" she whined, eyeing with disdain the way the book fell with the spine bent and the cover creased. "That's a favourite."_

"_I'll buy you a million copies of the damn book, Hermione," he said, his voice teasing. "Now, hush up and let me distract you."_

_He slid a hand up to cup her cheek and leaned in to brush a teasing kiss to her lips. She felt him smile against her before he drew her bottom lip into his mouth and nibbled playfully. A hand snuck its way beneath her nightshirt, grazing lightly against her breast, and she gasped loudly._

"_How am I doing?" he murmured._

"_Brilliantly," she breathed._

_She felt him smile against her. "Good."_

_She all but melted into his embrace when he kissed her again, shifting her position on the sofa so she was sitting astride his lap. She felt she could happily spend all her life kissing Harry. His hands went around her back, peeling off her shirt and pulling her closer, sliding up and down the heated sway of her spine, while hers worked on blindly unbuttoning his starched, grey shirt._

"_I love you, Hermione," Harry whispered against her lips. "So, so much."_

_She held him to her just that little bit tighter and let out a happy sigh. "I love you, too, Harry."_

Hermione gasped and jerked herself upright. Her breath fell in sharp, harsh pants, and her hands were shaking. Her skin was cold and clammy, too, and there were little beads of sweat rolling down her neck.

Bracing herself on the basin, she pulled herself up and splashed her face with icy cold water.

"That was the future," she whispered faintly to herself as she stared at her pale reflection, the eye in her forehead now closed and still once more. One saving grace, she supposed, was that the eye wasn't visible on her in that vision.

She slumped down to the stone floor again, hardly able to breath as the vision played over and over again in her mind.

**XXX**

In the month that followed seeing her own future, Hermione had been struck by several new visions: there had been one of Seamus Finnegan and Pansy bloody Parkinson having a rather spectacular snogging session in one of the Quidditch change rooms, one of Blaise Zabini being loudly (and quite harshly, too, in her opinion) rejected by a haughty-looking Daphne Greengrass, and one of Christmas at the Burrow in what looked like at least five years' time, wherein Ginny finally looked happy again in the arms of Ernie MacMillan, of all people. She and Harry had featured quite predominately in that one, too.

Hence, she was now avoiding Harry with the same voracity she might have employed if he had been carrying the bubonic plague.

It didn't matter how she tried to distract herself, she couldn't shake the vision of her and Harry together from her mind. She shuffled from class to class, hardly able to concentrate on anything that was happening around her, and a full night's sleep had become little more than a distant memory. Nothing else seemed even remotely important by comparison – she was even shirking her Head Girl duties! – and it made her feel like the silliest _girl _to be worrying over a boy like she was, especially one she hadn't really given much romantic thought to before then, aside from a silly crush when she was twelve. If she really thought about it, though, the crush had never really disappeared, it only took a back seat to their friendship which had been far more important to her at the time.

Of course, she had noticed Harry. He had grown significantly, though he was still barely an inch taller than herself. His body would probably always be just that little bit too skinny, but years of Quidditch had given him a lightly muscled, slender physique that she knew many a girl, Gryffindor or otherwise and certainly herself, appreciated. His hair, inky black like raven feathers, would likely always be messy, but he just wouldn't be _Harry _if it were any other way. It was his eyes that drew her in, though. They were most incredible shade of green, hardly unlike emeralds, and were the most expressive part of him. She could look into Harry's eyes and know exactly what he was thinking at that moment.

But for the longest time, she couldn't see him as anything more than a brother. She hardly knew what to think anymore after seeing the visions of them together. She loved him dearly already and knew she always would, but was there anything _more_ to it? The thought that her future lay with him was both scary and oddly exciting, and made her feel warm all over to think about in a way she'd never felt before, not even when she'd had shared her first kiss with Viktor.

A pounding headache mounted as questions swirled in her head, all demanding answers at once: should she question Harry now, or should she let their eventual relationship take its course? Just how far into the future did the vision take place? Neither she nor Harry had appeared to be much older. Would it be fair to continue to keep the vision from Harry when it concerned him, too? Did Harry's affection over the past few weeks, and even years, mean anything in regards to the future she had seen? Could the visions be changed? Did she _want_ to change it?

There was only one person she could think of who might be able to help her answer those questions, but it definitely wasn't Harry.

Suddenly, a hand shot out and gripped her elbow, pulling her into a darkened alcove covered from view by a tapestry hanging from ceiling to floor. She yanked her arm away from her assailant and turned, ready to give the mystery person a piece of her mind.

Her jaw dropped in surprise, and even in the shadows, the hurt that crossed his eyes was plain to see. Another question crossed her mind, one that made her eyes grow wide and her knees go weak:

_Is he already in love with me?_

"You're avoiding me," Harry stated. He looked truly awful. His hair was standing on end – not unusual, but still worth noting in Hermione's opinion, as Harry did usually did at least try to keep his hair under control, even if it didn't work the majority of the time. His jaw was unshaven, his glasses were lopsided, and his uniform was dishevelled and unkempt. He looked almost as though he had been cornered unsuspectingly in a broom closet, and the thought sent the most infuriating rush of jealousy through her.

"Yes, I am," Hermione meekly replied.

"Have I done something wrong? Something to offend you?"

Hermione shook her head and, entirely against her will, let out a derisive scoff. "Of course not, Harry. Don't be silly."

"Then why?" he demanded.

"I can't say."

His eyes narrowed. "Was it something you saw?"

She shifted uncomfortably. "I'd rather not say."

"That's a yes." He pressed forward so their bodies were separated by mere inches. "What did you see, Hermione?" he asked softly.

His proximity was warm and incredibly distracting; she could hardly look at him without seeing the loving husband and father she had seen in her vision and, in that moment, just how much she wanted that was nearly overwhelming. "I – I can't tell you," she stammered.

"Was it about me?" he pressed on, unconcerned. "Am I going to get hurt?"

"No!" Hermione exclaimed passionately. "Nothing like that." She let out a frustrated sigh and pushed him away. "I can't tell you what I saw, Harry! You know I can't!"

His lips quirked into a wicked grin. "Did you see me having sex?"

Hermione nearly choked. "Good Lord, Harry, no! Nothing of the sort!"

His smile tamed. "Then why are you acting so strangely?"

"I just…" Hermione tugged at her hair and let out a frustrated sigh. She looked down to the floor where their feet were toe-to-toe and cast in shadow. "I don't know why I'm acting strangely," she muttered.

"You saw something about me, and now you're thinking too hard about it," he told her as he leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. "I've known you for years, Hermione. I know how you get when you dwell too hard on things."

She paused and looked at him, as though seeing him for the first time. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to reach a hand up to brush his messy fringe away from his eyes. "You really do, don't you?" she whispered, her hand settling softly on his cheek.

He studied her carefully for a long moment, his bright green eyes boring into her brown ones, and slowly, he brings his hand up to meet hers. His fingers moved in between hers, and he held her there, still looking at her with a wary gaze that was very nearly calculating. Her breath caught in her throat when he began to slowly move in closer, his eyes focused on her lips.

"Hermione… I –"

A deep, masculine yelp of pain sliced through the tense air between them, and a solid body fell into the tapestry hiding them from view, knocking them to the ground.

"Oi, Smith, ya clumsy oaf!" a coarse, undignified voice rumbled. "Geddup off the floor! We're late for Creatures as it is!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming," the body grumbled, hauling himself back to his feet. Harry and Hermione listened to the footsteps become progressively quieter before disappearing entirely.

Harry heaved a deep sigh, sounding nearly disappointed. He stood and held out a hand for her to take. "Come on, Hermione," he said, his voice strangely hollow. "We should get back to the common room. You have a free lesson right now too, don't you?"

"Yes, I do," she eventually replied, taking his hand and letting him pull her to her feet. The headache that had been threatening nearly burst once she was upright, and she barely stifled a groan of pain as her hands flew to cradle her head.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Harry asked, his tone soft and concerned.

"Just a headache," she answered with an uneasy smile. "I have a potion for it in my dorm."

"Can you walk?"

She let out a little laugh. "I'll be fine, Harry."

Regardless of her words, he looped an arm around her waist as he led her towards the staircase. She leaned gratefully into his hold, her eyes closing as she enjoyed his warmth and the wonderful scent of peppermint that he seemed to be shrouded in.

"Listen, I know you're in pain, and I was only thinking… but have you considered talking to – and please, don't hit me for this, but –"

"Spit it out, Harry," Hermione murmured as she rubbed at her throbbing temple.

"Trelawney." Harry leaned in close, his whisper conspiratorial. "Have you considered talking to Trelawney? See what she might know about all this?"

Hermione let out a weak scoff. "What is Trelawney going to tell me? That fraud of a woman delights in foretelling your death from nothing but tea dregs and shadows and you think I should seek her out?"

"But she's the Divination professor, Hermione," Harry pointed out. "It's not entirely out of the realm of reason that she might know something about a bloody future-seeing eye on your forehead!"

"Keep your voice down!" Hermione hissed. She cast a quick glance around the hall, making sure no one had heard. "Honestly, Harry!"

"Sorry," he said sheepishly.

"No, I don't plan on talking to Trelawney," Hermione went on. "Dumbledore couldn't offer anything constructive, there is nothing about whatever this is happening to me in any books, and in any case, I don't believe she would assist me anyway. I rather offended her in third year."

"You did," Harry agreed, grinning. "You should have stayed, Hermione; Divination was a right laugh."

"I had far better things to do with my time that year than sit in with some old fraud and listen as she detailed the many and varied ways she had seen you die that week in the bottom of a teacup."

"That's why it was so funny," Harry pointed out with a chuckle.

Hermione rolled her eyes and slouched further into his side. "In any case, Harry, I don't plan on talking to Trelawney. I think have someone else in mind to talk to."

"Really? Who?"

"Theodore Nott."

"Theodore Nott?" Harry repeated, crinkling his nose. "Why?"

"Hmm." She yawned, incredibly tired all of a sudden. "I was going to look for him now. Don't you remember how he was acting when he pulled me away from Hagrid's trap? He was relieved, and not just because he saved me. And remember how he kept saying something was gone, something that he never wanted to find again, and how he was rubbing his forehead?"

Harry's eyes widened in understanding. "You think he passed the eye on to you somehow?"

"I'm not entirely certain, but it makes sense, doesn't it?"

He shrugged. "Not really, but it's as good a lead as any. I'll go with you."

"No, Harry," she quickly vetoed, reaching a hand around his wrist to hold him back. "I should do it alone."

Harry didn't immediately answer; instead, his gaze was directed to where her hand was still wrapped around his wrist.

Instead of pulling away like her first instinct told her to, she slid her hand down to take proper hold of his. She laced her fingers with his and gave a gentle squeeze. She had never really given much thought before to how her hand seemed to fit so nicely in his, or how his touch was a soothing balm that calmed her and brought about the most wonderful sense of peace, but at that moment her mind didn't seem to want to focus on anything else.

"Are you feeling alright, Hermione?" Harry asked in a whisper. He touched the back of his free hand to her forehead. "You feel a little warm."

"I'm fine," she replied in her own whisper. "I suppose I'm a little tired, though. I haven't been sleeping well."

Harry nodded. "Alright. But you aren't going to Nott today." He kept one arm around her shoulders while the other moved to scoop up her legs, cradling her close to him. "You need to rest."

She yawned again, the pain in her head ebbing slightly as she curled up against Harry's chest. "Okay, then," she murmured as she closed her eyes. She supposed Theodore Nott could wait a little while longer.

**XXX**

Theodore Nott was a difficult man to track down. Slytherins who were willing to divulge any clues as to his whereabouts were few and far between, and more far confusing than helpful with their obscure hints. Hermione felt as though she was being sent on a strange sort of treasure hunt, with only cryptic clues and perplexing Slytherins to guide her. She wouldn't have been surprised if those Slytherins who had 'helped' her were hiding behind corners, watching her and laughing. She doubted any of them truly knew where Nott was, anyway.

It wasn't until she happened upon Malfoy one evening who, after she had all but begged for the information, told her in a bland tone, "He's in the library, Granger. He only spends about as much time in there as you do, in his little nest by the divination books, of all bloody things," that she felt she had anything to go on.

She went on past Malfoy, ignoring his jibe of, "Should Potter be jealous?", and headed back down the staircase towards the library.

It was a little presumptuous of her, she knew, to assume that just because she didn't like it, that no one else would deign to use the divination section of the library. She tended to avoid the area; it reeked of burning incense, and its windows were swathed quite unnecessarily in pink and mauve gauze. She rolled her eyes, too, whenever she walked past and heard the ever present sounds of clinking china and high-pitched, tittering giggles.

That Nott would be there – and voluntarily, too – was surprising to say the least.

"I was wondering when you would come looking for me, Granger," he said without glancing up from his book as she rounded the corner.

"Nott." She nodded in greeting. "You're a difficult man to find."

His smile was slow and enigmatic as he looked up at her. "Perhaps I don't really want to be found."

She stared at him for a long moment. "You know why I'm here, then?"

"I can hazard a guess as to why." He fixed her with a wry smirk and snapped his book shut, giving her his undivided attention. "So, what do you think of it?"

Hermione considered that. "It is inconvenient," she responded after a moments' thought as she slid into the seat across from him. "The visions are painful, and impossible to predict, not to mention distracting." She thought back to the vision of her and Harry and blushed. "Can the visions be changed?"

"No," Nott replied, shaking his head. "What you see is set in stone."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Are you absolutely certain?"

"The magic isn't wrong, Granger," Theo declared, sounding exasperated. "I thought you would appreciate that fact by now. You can't change the futures you are shown, but there is one exception to that rule."

"And that is?"

He looked at her meaningfully. "You need to look out for the tears. They'll show you the way."

"The tears?" Hermione repeated, puzzled. "This is no time for riddles, Nott."

"The eye was weeping before I found you, Granger. If there are tears, you are being shown _the_ future; the one you need to change to rid yourself of the curse and pass it on."

"So that's what needs to be done? Saving a life passes the curse on?"

Nott nodded. "Correct. I saved your life, and now you're the cursed one." He smirked. "You're welcome, by the way."

"And if I don't wish to pass the curse off? If I don't wish to burden someone else with it?"

"Then it's yours forever. Enjoy." He narrowed his eyes at her dubious expression and let out a huff of air. "The curse _wants_ to be passed on, Granger. If you die, it dies with you. It shows you a window; it's up to you to take it."

Hermione took a seat across from him. "What do you know of this curse?"

"I know enough," Nott replied. "I know it's called the _Postea Visus_ Curse, and that it is passed on when a life is saved. Documented cases and retellings of those who have suffered are rare; many of those afflicted choose to sequester themselves upon passing the curse on, such is the burden of their knowledge."

Hermione looked at him worriedly. "Will you be…?"

Theo shook his head. "I never saw anything so dire that I thought I wouldn't be able to handle it." He let out a deep breath and went on. "It offers random glimpses into the future with no regard for your surroundings or the people around you." He paused, looking contemplative. "When did your first vision occur?"

She cringed. "In Potions class."

Theo's jaw dropped. "So people – and Snape! – have seen you… you know?"

"They've seen me collapse," Hermione offered slowly, "but whether or not anyone knows why, I don't know."

"Potter knows, doesn't he?" he asked, smirking. "He keeps close to you now, more so than he normally does."

"Harry only knows what I choose to tell him. Is there a reason why he shouldn't?" Hermione questioned tersely. "We are best friends, after all, and he's been with me since the beginning of all this."

"Not at all." Theo shrugged. "But if I were you, I wouldn't share the things you see."

"You _were_ me," she retorted, a warm blush on her cheeks. "And I don't tell him what I see."

"Good. It's a lonely curse, Granger. One that it isn't wise to involve others in, regardless of the temptation to do so. The burden is too much for even one person, and not one that shares well."

"Then how did you manage?" she asked. "You're right, it's too much, but even having someone else who just knows, even if you aren't sharing the specifics… having Harry has been beyond helpful."

"You don't exactly see me with people, do you, Granger? Even before the curse, I've been pants at making friends. It was enough for me to trust the magic, and you should, too. It won't last forever, but there is no telling how long it might be before the one you are meant to save is shown to you. Just believe those things, and you'll be fine."

"How long was the curse with you for?"

"Nearly three years, and that's considered a short while for this curse," he revealed, cringing in remembrance. "Knowing the future and not being able to change it is a burden I don't wish on anyone, Granger, least of all you, bleeding heart that you are."

Hermione quirked a brow at his presumption. "You doubt my ability to handle this… curse?"

"I saw you _die_, Granger," he bluntly stated. "That hole was deeper than you think it was, and Hagrid had left a few presents at the bottom. The end result once your body was levitated out was horrifying to say the least. The curse dictates that _you_ will witness someone else's death too and, given the sort of person you are, I don't know how you'll handle that."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "You think you know me so well, Nott? What sort of person do you think I am?"

Theo leaned forward in his seat, clasping his hands together on top of the desk. "You want the best for the world and everyone and everything in it, and you'll do what it takes to get it. It's admirable, Granger, truly, but if you see something that… goes against that, I fear you would lose yourself trying to change it."

Hermione looked down, unable to deny the truth of his words.

"Did you…um… did you see anyone else die?" she asked. "Before you were able to find me, I mean? Surely you don't only have one moment to pass the curse on."

Theo looked down to the desk. "I did," he said softly, after a long, quiet moment. "Only once, though. I saw an older woman in Hogsmeade two years ago. She got drunk, slept outside in the snow and froze to death."

"And there was no way you could have helped?"

His answering smirk was wry, and a little sad. "I would have, if it had been possible with my limited capacity at the time, but given that it was Christmas and I had been back in London with my mother and sister, helping her was quite impossible. I managed to get a message to Rosmerta, but it didn't arrive quickly enough by owl since the window between the vision and the time the event occurs is quite narrow. The woman was dead by the time they found her."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, Granger," he dismissed. "There was nothing to be done in that case. Saving that woman was nigh on impossible. I've learned to live with it knowing I did all I could. But this is exactly my point; if a time comes where you see a death that you cannot change, what will you do?"

"Do all I can," she whispered, "and learn to live with it."

Theo nodded once, then turned his attention back to his book. "Then, once more, Granger, the only thing I can do is wish you luck."

**XXX**

The following weekend, Hermione came to a conclusion. She slipped away from the castle and Harry's watchful eye and left for Hogsmeade. There she went to Scrivenshafts and bought a journal bound in soft, supple brown leather, a beautiful swan feather quill and a pot of royal blue ink.

After her talk with Nott, she had decided that the lack of documentation of the _Postea Visus_ Curse would end with her. She fully intended to document her thoughts, experiences, and every detail both small and significant and, when the time came to pass on the curse, she would be able to pass on the journal, too. Hopefully the next person would continue the tradition, and the next and so on. She would not allow those who would follow her to be as lost and in the dark as she had been.

Besides, to chronicle her experiences would be most therapeutic for her, too.

After making her purchases, Hermione didn't feel the immediate need to return to Hogwarts. That would entail seeing Harry, and far more questions concerning her whereabouts than she wanted to answer at that moment. Instead, she headed over to the Three Broomsticks. She noted for the first time, too, the small, brass plaque on the wall and slightly to the right of the entrance.

_In Remembrance of_

_Mary Vanessa Wollsworth_

_Beloved Daughter, Sister and Aunt_

_Aug 30, 1938 – Dec 24, 1995_

_She rests in peace at last_

For the woman Theo saw, she sombrely noted to herself.

Hermione pushed through the double doors and quickly found an empty booth in one of the corners, well lit by the warm sunlight filtering in through the window. It wasn't an official Hogsmeade weekend, so the pub was sparse and quiet, perfect for her afternoon plans. She settled herself into the seat and arranged her purchases in front of her as a waitress came and took her order of a Butterbeer and chips.

As she waited, she made a brief outline of her notes on a spare piece of parchment. By the time her order arrived, the sheet of paper was covered in lines, arrows, crossed out words and blocks of text written in writing so small it was only legible to her.

"Rosmerta," Hermione began as pushed her paper to the side so the boisterous woman could set down her order, "I've never noticed that plaque outside the door before."

"I forget about it meself sometimes," the older woman answered with a small smile.

"Did you know her? Mary Wollsworth, I mean."

"She was a regular," Rosmerta informed with a shrug. "Sad woman, from what I remember. Never had a family of her own, but she seemed to like it here, where she could talk to people. She drank like a fish though, rest her soul."

"Did you have the plaque installed?"

"Me? Nah, it was one of the students."

"A student?" Hermione repeated, her brow furrowed in consideration. "Do you remember who it was?"

"I forget his name… but he was tall, brown hair, Slytherin. Pretty, too, even if he was a bit young at the time. Really shiny hair."

"Theodore Nott?" Hermione ventured.

"That's him," she confirmed with an enthusiastic nod. "Sweet lad, to do that for Mary. She's got a grave, obviously, but he stuck that there for her, too. I assumed he was one of the nephews, since Mary had about a dozen of them, but he just said he was a friend." She shrugged and smiled. "Call if you want anything else."

"I will," Hermione murmured, looking back down at her notes as Rosmerta sidled away to another table.

Hermione nibbled at a hot chip before whispering a quick, "_Scourgify,_" to rid her fingers of any oil that would surely stain the paper. She took her new journal and flipped open the cover, pressing down on it at the middle so it wouldn't close as she wrote.

She took hold of the new inkwell and shook it thoroughly to mix the contents before twisting open the cap and dipping the pointed end of her quill in. She relished in the scent of fresh ink and paper, and poised her quill against the journal to begin her tale.

_What I am about to tell you is going to seem strange and highly unbelievable…_

**XXX**

"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed on seeing her the following morning.

She had purposefully delayed her return to Hogwarts until such a time that she could see the flashes of gold and scarlet flying above the Quidditch pitch, when she knew Harry would be too distracted with practice. She had managed to skulk back to the Gryffindor Tower without him noticing and, without his presence, there were no distractions or hindrances, bar the odd greeting, to her mounting the stairs back to her dorm room where she could continue to write and think.

It had been Theo's adamant assurances that the visions were set in stone that finally prompted her to truly consider just what it was she felt for Harry. She loved him, of that she was certain, but she was doubting now, more so than ever before, just what sort of love it was. All she knew for certain was that whatever it was she felt for him was the farthest thing from brotherly, and had probably never been that way at all.

Harry rushed up to meet her halfway on the staircase and seized her in a tight hug, uncaring of the whispers that broke out in the common room below them.

"Where have you been? I didn't see you at all yesterday."

"I had errands," she replied simply, closing her eyes and running her hand slowly up and down his back. "I was in Hogsmeade all day."

"And all night?" Harry pulled back slightly and quirked a dubious brow. "Hermione, what were you doing?"

Hermione sighed and pulled back just enough to retrieve the journal from the book bag that hung at her side. She had spent all day and night filling in every single detail she could remember, from her reaction to finding the eye on her forehead to more vaguely recalled accounts of the visions she had seen. She spoke at length about the curse itself and what it entailed, how to manage it and how to pass it on, using the information Nott had given her and what she had gathered herself, and by four o'clock that morning, the journal was almost full.

"This is what I was doing," she told him, holding the book out for him to take. She watched his face as he flicked through it, his eyes widening behind his lenses. "I stayed in Hogsmeade most of the day, then I came back when you were at Quidditch practice – not that I was avoiding you!" she declared at his hurt expression. "I only wanted to get back to my room to continue writing."

"I guess Nott was a big help, then," Harry commented, smiling at her over the book. "And the key you were looking for."

"He was," she confirmed with a nod. "He explained everything. I thought it might be a good idea to write it all down, so no one else is as lost as I or anyone else before me was."

"You rarely have bad ideas, Hermione." His eyes skimmed her writing, and widened when he reached a particular passage. "You need to save a life?"

"To pass the curse on, yes."

He read on until there was a deep wrinkle between his brows. "But only the life your vision has shown you?"

"Yes."

Harry's face scrunched up. "Annoyingly specific," he muttered as he flicked to another page.

"I know."

"Well, I suppose I can forgive you, then." Harry snapped the book shut with a gentle smile. "But if you really wanted time to yourself to do this, Hermione, you could have just said something. I'm not going to get offended, so there's really no need to ditch me."

"I didn't ditch you, Harry."

"No, you only snuck around, purposely avoided me in the morning, then you only came back when you knew I was otherwise occupied."

Hermione took a deep breath. "Well then, perhaps you would like to come with me to Hogsmeade next time?"

Harry's hands faltered, dropping the book to the floor. "Uh," he uttered as he bent down to retrieve it. "Did you just say… um…?"

"I did."

"Like a…?"

"Yes, Harry. Like a date."

He pressed the book in her hands and met her eyes. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, smiling. "Positive, Harry."

His eyes took a suspicious glint. "You saw something, didn't you?"

Slowly, she nodded again. "I did, but this has nothing to do with it. I'm asking because you I want to, Harry, not because I feel like I have to. If I'm being completely honest with myself, I've wanted to for a long time now."

Slowly, his lips quirked in a genuine, happy smile. "Me, too," he quietly admitted. "For far longer than I cared to realise."

She returned his smile with a wide one of her own. "We should probably talk about this," she whispered, suddenly very conscious of the many pairs of eyes fixed curiously upon them.

"We probably should," he agreed, taking her hand in his and leading her down the remaining stairs and out the portrait. He turned back to her with a smirk once the portrait closed after them. "To the Room of Requirement? We can ask Dobby to bring us hot chocolate?"

Smiling, she nodded. "Sounds wonderful, Harry."

He took her hand again and offered another boyish smile, and began to lead her down the winding halls to the blank wall opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy that served as the concealed entrance to the Room of Requirement.

"Will it be weird?" she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Harry stopped mid-stride and turned to face her, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"This!" she exclaimed, gesturing a hand back and forth between them. "We've been friends for years, Harry, and with Ron and Ginny – _and my eye_! If we do _this_… will it be weird?"

Instead of answering, Harry took a step forward and cupped her chin, tilting her face upwards. His eyes glinted with determination as his free hand trailed nearly sensuously down her body, coming to a rest at her waist. Slowly, almost shyly, he leaned forward to press his lips against hers in a soft, tentative kiss.

She inhaled sharply and let it out in a happy sigh, lifting her hands from where they were hanging by her sides to hold onto his shoulders, clutching tightly as he began to move his lips against hers. As quickly as it had started, though, Harry pulled away, his eyes bright and his lips wet.

"Does this feel weird, Hermione?" he asked, leaning in again to brush his lips over hers.

"Not at all," she whispered.

She felt him smile. "I didn't think so either. Was it weird in whatever it was you saw of us?"

She shook her head slightly, not wanting to break contact. "Merlin, no."

"Then we'll be fine. And as for the eye, I'll be right here with you, and we'll get through it, however long it takes. Alright?"

"Okay, then."

Harry chuckled, sounding far lighter than she could ever remember. "You believe me? Just like that?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again, slow but thorough, before pulling back with a smirk. "You're Harry Potter; of course I believe you."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>So, this is finished. For now. I was writing a third part before this was submitted, but I ran out of time and didn't finish it, hence why this piece is cut off where it is. I do intend to finish that third part to bring this arc to a proper conclusion, but I'm not sure when I'll get the time. So while this piece is marked complete - since it really can stand on its own - there will be something extra added to it some time early next year.

Leave a review, please :)


End file.
